


There Comes a Time When All is Made Right

by ValerieViolette (Perydot)



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Vague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4525290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perydot/pseuds/ValerieViolette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He wonders how he ended up here..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Comes a Time When All is Made Right

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [convictions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4518573) by [Trell (orphan_account)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Trell). 



> I saw the summary of "Convictions" by trell, and I ran with it.

He wonders how he ended up here, sitting with his arms pinned up above his head. They're fractured in four places with his left radius broken, his dislocated right shoulder roughly pushed back into place. His legs are sprawled out in front of him with nothing broken, just twisted and sprained. His eyes barely focus on the septic dungeon floor, his left eye swollen to the point that he can't even open it, his right crusted with the dry blood.

In the beginning, in between the all too brief moments he wasn't absolutely engulfed in pain, he tried to recount everything he remembered before being plunged into darkness. He tried… and failed. He failed more times than he feasibly count right now, his head being as addled as it is. After all, it's been two? three? four days since he woke up; that's plenty of time to think.

Now, still in between the long stretches of unending pain, he tries to think of the people who would do this to him.

This time, he doesn't fail.

He gets it right immediately because who _else_ would want him as a bloody shell like this? Only _him_.

But instead of _him_ , someone else enters the dungeon. She floods his world with firelight, his ears with the soft yet impossibly loud _click-clack-click_ of her heels against floor, his nose with the obnoxious smell of disinfectant.

He sucks in the stale air as he tries to look up at her with his one good eye. Her face is hard despite its objective softness. She stares at him like she wishes he was much farther away – miles beneath earth? beneath snow? beneath a pile of soon to rot corpses? – and he wonders why.

Wordlessly, she kneels down to his level and drowns his open wounds with disinfectant.

He sits with his arms up above his head, legs sprawled out in front of him, his left eye swollen shut, his right now slowly being cleaned of blood. As he stares at her hard yet soft face, he left in wordless confusion.

She finishes her job and _click-clack-click_ s towards the door.

"Why?" he weakly asks.

Her laugh is as cold as ice and snow. She barely turns back around to sneer bitterly. "We didn't all have Cora to play savior for us."


End file.
